


Binary Stars

by cosmogyrals



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyrals/pseuds/cosmogyrals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna watches the stars with a different sort of Doctor. (Set at some point after Journey's End and before End of Time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binary Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a fic exchange at the doctor_donna comm on LJ.

Donna had always bloody hated Christmas. It started out with getting drunk at office parties in her twenties, getting groped by drunk office managers and plastering on a fake smile when all she really wanted to do was slap them. And then she got older, and she started slapping them, which inevitably led to getting sacked (but better that than sleeping with them in hopes of a promotion). And then she began temping, and temps, well, they didn't get invited to office parties. Or they did, and Donna was left in a corner with her drink, feeling uncomfortable as everybody else gathered round and laughed at some in-joke or another and she was stuck as the odd one out.

Being the odd one out was the story of Donna's life, really. No matter what she did, she stuck out like a sore thumb. It was ironic – she couldn't be described as anything but ordinary, but a string of small calamities and utterly bizarre circumstances just…followed her. She never lasted long at temp jobs, not anymore. Electronic equipment went haywire around her from time to time, shorting out for no apparent reason. And she kept catching flashes of blue out of the corner of her eye…

Well. At least getting completely sloshed for Christmas Eve would make seeing funny things seem entirely plausible. She'd decided to occupy a chair by the fire at her local pub – there was no football or cricket on tonight, and things were fairly quiet. A couple of her grandad's friends were playing billiards at the table in the next room, but most of the noise in the pub came from the jukebox cranking out Eighties Christmas tunes. Donna smiled bitterly as she sipped her cranberry juice and vodka; she didn't have the money to feed the jukebox to change the music to something a bit more palatable. God, but she felt like a Grinch. She'd had to escape the house – Gramps was puttering round in a Santa hat while putting up decorations, and her mum was in her usual baking frenzy (Donna preferred to only be around to consume the end result; she could definitely pass on getting roped into helping with the baking). All her mates were busy with family things, so she'd snuck down to the corner pub by herself. Which, she had to admit, was a little pathetic, even for her, but after a few more drinks, she doubted she'd mind. (Actually, after a few more drinks, she'd probably be dancing on the tables and singing along with the Christmas music.)

Currently, the only other person in the pub was a bloke occupying the opposite corner and nursing a pint. He wasn't one of the regulars; Donna'd never seen him in here before, and Sam the barman just seemed to look right past him, like he wasn't even there. She shrugged and picked up her drink, standing – if there was one thing she knew, it was that misery loved company, and this bloke seemed to be misery personified.

He glanced at her when she sat down next to him, surprise evident in his blue eyes. "Hullo," he greeted her tersely, though it was obvious that he didn't want to talk much, and even more obvious that he didn't especially like her new seating arrangements. Luckily, if there was one thing Donna Noble loved, it was a challenge, particularly when she needed a distraction so badly. She sipped her drink, using it as an excuse to gaze at him over the rim of her glass. He looked a bit…well, rough was her first impression, from his facial features ("strong" being the nicest word she could find to describe his nose, or maybe "Roman") to the navy jumper and well-worn leather jacket he was wearing, to his close-cropped hair. It wasn't a bad look, really, more like an unfinished statue, roughly hewn from stone. There was potential in his features, and Donna liked potential. She set her drink down, clearing her throat.

"You looked lonely," she informed him. And he had; even up close, there was a hint of unfathomable sadness to him, one that was amplified in his eyes and his expression. Donna couldn't bear sad people, especially not those as pathetically sad as he seemed to be. They awoke some deeply-hidden nurturing instinct in her, one that she ordinarily tried to hide behind her tough outer shell.

"Me? Lonely?" There was a wry twist to his mouth as he lifted his pint glass to his lips to take a long drink of his beer. "Nah, I just like the peace and quiet, me. Means I can hear my own thoughts for once."

"You're in the wrong city at the wrong time if you want peace and quiet, mate," Donna told him dryly, leaning back in her chair. And almost certainly talking to the wrong person, but she felt no need to inform him of that. "London at Christmas? Bleedin' madhouse, yeah? Mind you, it's hard enough to find somewhere quiet at Christmas – though going scuba-diving usually works – but, well, all those weird things the tabloids claim, about London being cursed? Puts people on edge, like. Me, I think it's all a pack of lies." She snorted derisively at that; her mum had wanted to drag them off to the bloody countryside again this year, since Donna hadn't made her own travel plans. Luckily, Gramps had put his foot down and insisted that he was going to stay in London, and her mum had actually given in for once. "Anyway, you aren't going to be able to hear your own thoughts 'round here."

"Christmas?" He looked a little surprised. "Well. I had no idea it was Christmas – must've lost track of time after –" He cut himself off abruptly. "Anyway, I probably should have figured that one out from the festive decorations and whatnot." He chuckled, and that hint of a smile transformed his whole face from a grim spectre to something warm and friendly and open. "C'mon." He stood up abruptly, offering Donna a hand. "Let's go find somewhere quiet."

"What?" she asked, staring up in bewilderment. Well. That sounded a lot like a pickup line to Donna, because as far as she was concerned, it was certainly quiet enough in the pub to hear one's own thoughts. Still, she had no idea what had prompted it – hell, she didn't even know the man's name, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to sleep with someone who couldn't even remember what time of year it was, good-looking or not.

"Oh, I dunno, a park – though those are probably filled with Christmas festivals and ice-skating rinks and whatnot – a grassy field, a quiet hilltop. Somewhere with a good view of the night sky."

"Don't you think it's a bit cold?" she asked skeptically, arching an eyebrow at him.

"For a good bit of stargazing?" He smiled, and, oh, that lit his entire face up in a way that tugged at Donna's heart. "Nah, the colder the better. Makes everything sharper and clearer.

"Oh! Stargazing." She really hoped that wasn't some sort of newfangled term for outdoors sex. "I know just the place." Donna took his hand, placing her fingers in his callused palm, and stood up, smiling at him. "I'm Donna, by the way."

He squeezed her hand, grinning back at her, though she swore she could see sadness flicker in his clear blue eyes for a split second. "John." It sounded like an alias, but she didn't care; if he didn't want to use his real name, that was all right with her. She wondered for a moment what she was doing, taking a strange man back to her house on Christmas Eve, but it felt so right. Besides, it wasn't as if she was going to sleep with him – she just wanted to show him her grandad's telescope, that's all. Any bloke in a pub who suggested stargazing, of all things, had to be more than a little touched in the head.

She pulled her jacket on, finishing her drink quickly, and dug in her pocket for her keys. "All right, John, let's go."

**

The house was dark and empty when she led John up the drive, the car she and her mum shared gone. Donna was a little surprised by this, so she pulled out her mobile, flashing John an apologetic smile. "I'll just be a mo'," she told him, pulling free from his hand – had she really held it all the way home? – and ducking into the shadows in front of the garage, still keeping a wary eye on him as she dialled. "Mum?" she asked when Sylvia picked up the phone. "Where've you and Gramps gone off to now, then?"

"Oh, Donna, your auntie Lorraine's invited us over for some drinks – eggnog and that sort of thing, you know. She's got carolers coming 'round every few minutes. Your Gramps is sulking in the corner, of course, but I think he just needs a bit more rum in his eggnog. Anyway, we'll be home late, don't wait up for us! Ta!" The line went dead in her ear as Donna stared down at the screen.

"Thanks, Mum," she grumbled, though she was secretly glad to escape Aunt Lorraine's apparent last-minute Christmas cheer. Her relatives would inevitably get tipsy enough to start making comments about Donna's younger, more successful cousins, and wonder why Donna seemed to be incapable of holding down a job or finding a suitable man, and, well, she'd need more drinks than a spot of rum in the eggnog to cope with that.

"Everything all right?" John asked as she walked back over to him, shoving her mobile in her pocket and fumbling with her keys to open the door.

"Yeah, just calling to check up on my mum," she replied. Donna unlocked the door and flipped the lights on, hanging her coat on the coatrack next to the door. "Come on in, I'll put the kettle on and fill up a thermos."

He smiled at her again, the light coming from the house casting an eerie pattern of shadows on his face for a moment until he stepped across the threshold. John gazed around, his eyes strangely intent as he took in the Nobles' home; Donna watched him as she filled the kettle with water and put it on to boil. It was almost as if he was unused to being inside a proper house – but that was silly, wasn't it? Maybe he really was as lonely as she'd thought upon first seeing him at the pub.

"Tea or cocoa?" she asked, pouring the water into the thermos. He still looked distracted, running his hand along the grain of the wood in the kitchen table, splaying his fingers out to trace individual lines.

"Tea," he answered without looking up. "Infusion of free radicals, and all that. Froth of liquid jade. Brilliant drink, tea. Did you know, one of the Chinese creation myths of tea states that a Buddhist master fell asleep while meditating in front of a wall for nine years, and when he woke up, he cut his own eyelids off in a fit of frustration at his weakness? The tea bushes sprang up from his eyelids. Bit of a gory story for such a fantastic beverage, eh?" He grinned at Donna again.

She rolled her eyes at him as she packed teabags, sugar, milk, and mugs into the canvas bag she used to take up to the hill with her, folding a thick plaid blanket on top of the lot. "Smart one, aren't you? Or else you're making the lot of it up."

"Would I do that?" He chuckled deep in his throat. "Mind you, it's easier to believe that the emperor of China was drinking boiled water and merely had leaves fall into his bowl, changing the colour and flavour of the water. Or that people just started drinking it on their own." He offered Donna his arm gallantly, and she looped her arm around his elbow, leading him out the back door and up the hill in her garden.

**

Donna wrapped herself in the blanket as John adjusted the telescope – not that she wasn't perfectly familiar with it, because she was, but he'd said he had something he wanted to show her. "You familiar with the Pleiades, Donna?" he asked her.

She smiled softly at him, brushing a bit of hair out of her face. "Yeah, my Gramps used to show them to me when I was just a girl. I used to wish that they could come down from the sky and be my sisters, 'cos I always wanted siblings. I was so lonely…" Donna trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself.

He sat down next to her, wrapping an arm round her shoulders – and wasn't it strange, how she didn't want to shrug off such casual contact? How she even leaned into it? – and chuckled. "I've always loved the Pleiades – some cultures associated them with mourning, you know, like tears in the sky. The Vikings thought they were a mother hen and her chicks. The Blackfoot tribe called them orphans who couldn't find families, so they had no other choice than to become stars."

Donna turned to look at him, unwrapping the blanket to resettle it around the both of them. "Are there any cultures that don't have sad stories about them?"

"Mmm." He paused for a moment, thinking. "The gods had seven devoted priestesses – seven sisters who were more beautiful than words could describe. They danced 'round a pool, expressing their devotion to their gods through their song and dance."

"And then men came to rape them, right? Is that how it goes? 'Cos that's not a happy story at all."

He chuckled again, his eyes twinkling and catching the light. "No, Donna, they didn't get raped. Try being less cynical, hmm? The gods honoured them for their devotion by turning them into water nymphs and placing them in the sky, where they could dance for them for all eternity. They're known as volosozhary, or the ones with glowing hair."

She settled back against him, placated. "Well, that's better than rape, but still awfully lonely, if you ask me. And you'd think their feet would start hurting after awhile, really – a few centuries or so."

"They aren't lonely," he argued. "They have each other, after all. They'll never be truly alone – even you said that, when you said you wanted sisters like that."

"On the other hand, being a star is bound to be lonely. I mean, think about it. They look close to us, but they're so far away from each other. Nobody to touch, nobody to talk to, nobody within millions of miles." Donna shrugged practically.

"That's how life is sometimes, though." And there was the sadness in his eyes again, so deep and dark that Donna felt like she was falling into it, being swallowed up –

\- and suddenly he was leaning forward and kissing her, and Donna could tell that he was just desperate for the contact, to know that there was someone else out there, and though she didn't know him at all, she felt a need to fill that void for him, to be whoever – or whatever – it was he needed. Because, truth be told, she was lonely, too, and when she kissed him back, it was a bittersweet kiss – two strangers reaching out to each other, like distant stars trying to share their warmth and light in whatever way they could.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and Donna was surprised at how cold he felt – surely the blanket would have warmed him up? And it wasn't as if he wasn't wearing plenty of layers, but she could feel the chill of his skin through his jumper when she pressed her palm to his chest – and his pulse was fluttering strangely, jumping in his chest.

"Are you all right?" she asked breathlessly, pulling back far enough to get a good look at his face. He certainly looked all right, if a bit dazed – but that was only to be expected, she thought. "It's just – you felt strange, and I was worried, and…"

He cut her off by kissing her again, deeper and more desperate than before, and all the perfectly good objections Donna had previously had were banished to a distant corner of her mind, one that said that common sense and getting laid for the first time in bloody months were two unrelated things, and common sense could just shut the hell up, thank you very much. But his hands were still cold on her flushed skin as they slid up under her blouse, and that served to jar her back into the present.

"D'you maybe think we could go inside?" she suggested, perhaps a little archly. After all, it was December, and she didn't especially want to fall asleep after sex and end up with frostbite (and there was that damned practical thinking again, but she felt that it was perfectly relevant right now).

He chuckled, a low, dark noise that sent a delightful shiver down her spine, and drew her closer to him for a moment before standing wordlessly, offering her his hand for the second time that night. And again, she took it, slipping her fingers into his in a motion that seemed familiar and all-too-right.

**

His kisses now were dizzying, bringing Donna to new heights, then dropping her with no notice, her arousal spiraling as he removed her clothes slowly, moving from her lips to kiss each bit of bare skin as it was revealed, almost as if he was worshipping her. His touches were gentle – almost too gentle for Donna's tastes; he treated her as if she were made of the finest shell=thin porcelain as she arched up into his caresses, mewling for more, her fingers clenching the bedsheets.

"John," she panted hopelessly, her bare skin covered in a sheen of sweat as she laid prone on the bed, her hair fanned out on the pillowcase in a fiery corona. He was still fully clothed, and she was naked, and that just wasn't fair, as far as Donna and her last few shreds of rational thought were concerned. She reached up to him, fisting her hands in the fabric of his jumper as she drew him down on top of her, wrapping her legs around his hips to hold him still as she pushed the jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Donna could feel his arousal pressing against her through his trousers, thick and hard and hot – the only part of his body that seemed to be warm – and her impatience grew by leaps and bounds. He laughed joyfully as she yanked the jumper over his head – and then she stopped, staring at him. His chest was scarred in what looked to be an almost deliberate pattern, thin, ridged lash marks across his ribs, the shiny scars of burnt skin spaced amongst them intermittently.

"Oh, John," she whispered in an entirely different tone, running her fingertips over the abused skin. He shivered at her touch, but didn't pull away; instead, he dipped his head down to kiss her again, softer and more gently this time, almost as if to apologise for his deformities.

"Donna," he murmured against her lips, his voice low and husky. "I understand if you don't-" He stopped there, unable to finish the sentence. "I know I'm not quite what you expected, but-" he tried again.

Donna drew back, pressing her fingertips to his lips to silence him. Was that really what he thought, that he was too hideous to be desirable? She had been surprised by his scars, yes, and her ardor had been dampened for a moment, but she could quickly feel it returning. Her other hand explored his bare skin again, skimming over the scars to rub one of his nipples between two fingertips until it hardened at her touch and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, moving his hips against her. She continued moving her hand down his chest, palm flat against his skin, until she reached the waistband of his trousers, popping the button open with astonishing dexterity.

He moaned for the first time when she wrapped her fingers around his length, and she took the opportunity to slip two of her fingers into his mouth. His tongue mimicked the movements of her hand, twisting around her fingers, teasing the sensitive tips before drawing up and down the entire length. Meanwhile, his hands were busy roaming over Donna's skin again – after taking a moment to yank his trousers down roughly – teasing the sensitive spots he'd found before. There was one in particular he seemed to enjoy, just inside the curve of her hip, that made her writhe beneath him and whimper in desperation.

Finally, he let her fingers fall free, claiming her mouth again, and she pressed close to him, rubbing him against her until small gasps of ecstasy were falling from her lips and his moan had turned into a low growl, rumbling deep in his chest. He pried her hand free, pushing into her to the hilt in one swift thrust, apparently thoroughly convinced that she wouldn't break if he was rough with her.

Donna cried out, arching up against him, lost in her mounting arousal for a brief moment. God, but he felt good, so thick and full, and it really had been far too long since she'd had a man inside her. He just seemed to…fit, if that was the right word for it, hitting all of the right spots as he moved slowly – too slowly, as far as Donna was concerned, and she rolled her hips to try and accelerate his tempo.

He chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose in a way that was definitely more playful than sexy. "Impatient much, are we?"

She rolled her eyes at him and refused to dignify his question with a response, instead choosing to guide his hand to rub against her in just the right way, letting out some more decidedly undignified noises – which had the desired effect of making him groan appreciatively and thrust into her harder and faster. Donna smirked a bit and kissed him again, drawing him closer to her with her legs until he was as close as he could be.

They were lost in each other, too entangled to figure out where one left off and the other began – and it was impossible to tell who came first, both of them crying out at the same time, Donna lost in the spiraling galaxies unfolding behind her eyes in bursts of light and a pressure in her head that threatened to overwhelm her. When she opened her eyes again, he was resting his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes – and again, it seemed like she could see a dark infinity in his pupils, one that threatened to consume her. But she wasn't afraid of it this time, because she knew that she belonged in it, in him, with him, in a way that completely confused her – and, from the expression on his face, him.

"What are you?" he asked, though his words were muffled against her lips as he kissed her again, a probing kiss this time, his tongue slipping between her lips and – oh, God, she'd just come, surely she wasn't ready again just yet – but this was a different feeling pulsing at the back of her mind, a different sort of need.

She laughed breathlessly, and she wasn't sure that dizzy, heady feeling could be entirely attributed to her orgasm. "I could ask the same of you," she retorted, but as she said that, she knew who he was, who she was, how they were bound together – she could see everything, the way they orbited around each other, and it was deadly and beautiful at the same time, that view of the whole of time and space rotating around them. It was like the finest wine, like a drug surging through her veins. Donna couldn't get enough of it, and she knew it would kill her – but for a brief moment, she would be a shining supernova, and that would be brilliant.

"Doctor," she whispered, naming him at last as the darkness in his eyes claimed her.


End file.
